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Thimblefuls of 
Friendliness 


By Mary Brooks Picken 


One Woman’s 
Every-Day Philosophy 




Woman’s Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences, Inc. 

Scranton, Pa. 





Copyright, 1924 

By Woman's Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences, Inc. 
All rights reserved 
Printed in U.S.A. 


Press o» 

International Textbook Company 
Scranton. Pa. 


©C1A815339 


DEC 26 '924 





The sincere appreciation of the student body 
of the Woman’s Institute makes this book a 
reality, and to them, individually and collec¬ 
tively, it is affectionately dedicated. 















The Understanding Heart 


Treasured Always 


E MERSON wrote, “Oh, the com¬ 
fort, the inexpressible comfort 
of feeling safe with a person— 
having neither to weigh thought nor 
measure words, but pouring them all 
right out just as they are, chaff and 
grain together, certain that a faithful 
hand will take and sift them, keep 
what is worth keeping, and with the 
breath of kindness blow the rest away.” 

How many people do we know who 
are like that? How many have we 
ever known with whom we felt entirely 
free, with whom we could think aloud, 
with whom we could talk without being 
misunderstood, challenged, or dis¬ 
countenanced. But how we do cherish 
those friendships which have for their 
basis that perfect understanding which 
makes guarded expressions and tedious 
explanations unnecessary. 

Nothing influences the soul for good 
more than an understanding heart. 
In my life the finest example of this is 
a great uncle, the good man who 
brought up my mother. It was not 
his experience in living, his money, 
nor his ability that caused my grand¬ 
mother to ask him, her brother-in- 
law, in his youth, to look after her six 
children when she knew the end was 
near. It was because she knew his 
heart that she left him such a trust. 
He accepted it and never married, but 
devoted his life to bringing up these 
children. My mother was the baby, 
and when she grew up and married,this 
dear old uncle lived with her and my 
father. 

Many remarked on the unselfishness 
of this man, on how much he, as an 
individual, sacrificed in giving his life to 
these, his older brother’s children. 
But he never seemed to sense any sacri¬ 
fice, and no man ever had children or 
grandchildren of his own who loved 
him more devotedly than did my 
brothers and sisters and myself. 


He was the only elderly person 
in our family, aside from my grand¬ 
mother, and when I see old people out¬ 
living their usefulness and being 
tolerated by their children, when I see 
middle-aged people growing older and 
considering only their own selfish inter¬ 
ests or inclinations, I relize more and 
more the greatness of the man we 
lovingly called Uncle “Like.” 

Many times we children actually 
cried for disappointment because, by 
agreement, it was the privilege of 
another one that day to lead this 
dear, feeble, dim-eyed man to din¬ 
ner or supper. Often we tried to 
buy turns from the younger ones 
with pennies, colored cards, or candy, 
because to do a service for this treas¬ 
ured old man was the happiest thing 
in the day. 

When relatives came to try to per¬ 
suade him to visit them, we children 
would not leave him, for we knew that, 
when he sensed the pain his going 
would cause, he would not go. 

Though he was very frail, no one 
ever heard him complain. He was 
never too tired to tell a story, and when 
he turned his story so that the moral of 
it touched upon a wrong we had done 
that day, our shame was too great to 
remonstrate. The closer we cuddled 
to him, the more definitely it assured 
him that we would never do such a 
thing again. 

Often, as a little girl, I thought of him 
and what it was about him that we all 
loved so much. As the years pass, I 
realize that it was his understanding, 
his concern of our feelings, his apprecia¬ 
tion of our weaknesses. When we were 
rebuked at school,were “spelled down,” 
when we stubbed our toes, skinned our 
knees, it was his often unspoken, under¬ 
standing friendliness that helped us 
adjust ourselves to the humiliation or 
the pain. 




The Understanding Heart 


It was his interest in our good grades 
and his excuses for our poor ones that 
made us run to him with our report 
cards and led us to be honest in reading 
the percentages, which he could not see. 
It was his understanding, greater than 
pity, less selfish than love, that made 
us feel free to tell him that we were 
afraid to put the worm on the hook 
when fishing and ask him to do it, to feel 
free to go to him with an empty cup 
when wild-strawberry hunting and con¬ 
fess that the reason we did not have any 
was that we had eaten all we picked. 

His friendship was sure; ’twas a 
stable thing. We knew his kind humor 
would be the same when we got home 
from school as when we hurried away 
in the morning. We almost always 
ran a race on the last hundred yards to 
get home first to tell him the happen¬ 
ings of the day, always knowing that he 
would defend us in the right, help us 
to right the wrong, tolerate or subdue 
us when we were selfish or bigoted. 


This uncle has been gone many 
years; yet even now, when our family 
are together, we talk of him longingly, 
for the principles that he believed in 
are in our hearts, and his friendship 
still inspires and directs us. 

He never scolded nor spoke un¬ 
kindly, never criticized; yet we knew 
that his standards meant that every 
piece of candy, every apple, should be 
equally shared; that' a lie never could 
be hidden, that we must confess before 
we could be absolved. When we were 
in trouble, he was willing that we 
should hide behind his chair, but his 
lap always invited us to come around 
front, and we knew that the only way 
we could do that was to tell him all 
about it. 

The life of Uncle “Like” to me is 
proof that good does not die. The 
influence of an understanding heart 
will live forever because through such 
influence comes the permanence of life 
and love. 



Counting Aright 


Measure Birthdays by the Heart 


HEN are we old? 

I know two women—one 
whose birthdays number 
seventy, the other, thirty-three. The 
seventy-year old one reads, studies, 
enjoys, goes when she can, delights in 
a new dress, has a host of friends, and 
is genuinely happy. And folks just 
make excuses to visit her because of 
her keen interest, her joy in good news, 
her mental alertness, and her whole¬ 
hearted friendship. The little school 
girl, the grandmother of eighty, the 
boy home from college, the new daddy, 
all go to see her for contact with that 
current of friendship that helps them 
to believe in themselves and stimulates 
within them a new interest that is joy 
in itself. 

The woman of thirty - three is 
married, and has “enough to do with¬ 
out that.” “No, I didn’t read about 
it; books don’t interest me much.” 
“No, I don’t read the papers; you never 
can tell whether they’re telling the 
truth.” “Oh, that’s all right for those 
girls that aren’t married, but I’m too 
old to be interested.” “Yes, I like 
music, but I’m too old to take lessons 
now.” Imagine! And only thirty- 
three ! 

When do we stop? When does the 
etiquette of age bid us stop learning, 
stop being interested, stop growing in 
mental attainments? Surely, not until 
we shut our own minds and hearts 
against the idea. 

What can we give our friends when 
we have shut all doors and put in stor¬ 
age all desire for progress? Nothing. 
Just nothing. And friends are entitled 
to more than that. Friendships, to 
remain permanent, must grow and 
thrive on interest in the new conversa¬ 
tion, on growth in ideas, achieve¬ 
ments, and mental alertness. But if 
we go mentally to sleep, we become 
parasites on our friends, and surely 


our friends have problems enough. 
We cannot carry them, and we have no 
right to expect them to carry us. And 
no matter how many birthdays we 
have, we can be made young again by 
a new realization that mind develop¬ 
ment, intelligence, and the ability to 
make progress are matters of interest, 
not age; of incentive, not years; and 
that we must build our own generating 
plant and work to achieve, to grow, to 
learn, to find good everywhere, to find 
delight in the every day. 

* * * 

I know of a woman who at forty 
made her burial clothes, stinting her¬ 
self and doing without things she 
really needed in order to buy them. 
For thirty-eight years she took these 
garments out of her best bureau drawer, 
cried over them, and reminded her 
family of how great their loss would be 
when she was gone. After the thirty- 
eight years, when burial time came, a 
whole new outfit had to be provided, 
as the original ones were too small. So 
the only use these things ever had was 
to give her something to cry over and 
an outlet for her own self-pity. 

Perhaps this practice is all right for 
those who must shed their own tears, 
but it surely isn’t a very progressive or 
interesting way to use up life. Some 
people treasure life so much that they 
are afraid to use it, but with life, as 
with happiness, the more we use the 
more we have, for where is there a 
calendar or a clock big enough to mark 
for any individual the length of his day? 

So let’s forget the years and realize 
for our very own selves that our foun¬ 
tain of youth, our joy-well of living, our 
power to do things, lies deep in our 
own hearts, where neither years nor 
handicaps can interfere. We—you and 
I—are the only ones who can dip deep 
enough to get the full value of every 
day. So why cheat ourselves? 





Recreation 


Changing the Outlook 


T HE days in summer, when even 
the lanes, let alone the asphalt, 
send up their rays of heat, 
make us all feel that we should like to 
be lazy. But have you ever noticed 
that the laziest people always evidence 
more perspiration and less interest than 
the folks who are tidy, neat, and clean, 
and definitely interested in doing some¬ 
thing or going some place? 

And, after all, why should we let our 
whole plan of living be upset just 
because of a few hot days? It is poor 
management that keeps one in the 
kitchen the whole of a hot afternoon; 
poor management that keeps one two 
hours getting dinner; and poor manage¬ 
ment that prevents one from having 
happy afternoons outside and outings 
now and then. And poor management 
comes chiefly from lack of foresight. 

I know one woman who made a 
beautiful hand-hemstitched dress— 
the only one she had for summer— 
and spent hours of time in hemstitching 
it. It was lovely for church and after¬ 
noon affairs, but for the all-day holi¬ 
day, no. And she had used up all her 
time making this one dress and had to 
keep her family home all summer 
because of “nothing to wear” that was 
suitable for other occasions. 

Another woman said, “0,1 couldn’t 
go in the afternoon. You know we 
have our big dinner at night and that 
takes all afternoon.” But we all 
know that a little good management 
in the morning would have made it 
possible for her to get even the “big 
dinner” in forty-five minutes. 


Some folks go, year in and year out, 
on a routine schedule, taking the days 
as they come and using all the time 
they have in just “doing the work.” 

Summer time is a good time to get 
out of such a rut. Put a little novelty 
in the day, find a way to have appetiz¬ 
ing foods without spending the whole 
day in the kitchen, and plan to have 
smart and attractive clothes without 
taking weeks to make them and hours 
to launder them. Every woman should 
complement herself by being her own 
efficiency expert and should plan her 
days so that she can have a little 
recreation now and then. 

There is no tonic so good as to forget 
the habitual plan and hurry for a tri¬ 
fling cause, such as, for instance, getting 
ready on the spur of the moment for a 
care-free little jaunt or a picnic with the 
children. Try it sometime and see for 
yourself how happily comfortable your 
heart will be when, after a day in the 
open, you pull your tired muscles into 
bed and declare that you really enjoyed 
yourself better than you thought you 
would. 

So long as we are interested in other 
folks, we can have a good time our¬ 
selves, for they will be glad to join 
with us in planning joyful, innocent 
fun that helps in keeping us well and 
happy. In the winter, we have books, 
pictures, concerts, and indoor visits 
to keep us alert and interested, but 
all of these things seem rather like 
canned vegetables in garden time when 
the mountains, the forest, the streams, 
and even the stars bid us visit them. 




The Spirit of Prayer 


Child Faith 


M AY-DAY celebrations held in 
the little village near my child¬ 
hood home were eventful 
affairs, at least for little girls. Well 
do I remember one time when May 
Day was coming nearer and nearer and 
my sisters and I had no new hats for 
the occasion. My mother had been ill 
and we could not worry her about hats; 
yet we could not go to the May-pole 
party without them. But the enthusi¬ 
asm of our faith came to our aid and we 
prayed eagerly and earnestly for new 
hats. 

We dreamed about them, we talked 
among ourselves about them, and we 
even pretended as we went about our 
household duties—and we thought 
then that the entire management of the 
household depended on us—that we 
were wearing beautiful new hats, that 
we were at the May-pole party. We 
did all the imaginable pretending and 
dreaming of little girls and—we prayed. 
Our every thought was a prayer for 
those hats. And, besides, we kept our 
faith, never once questioning that the 
hats would arrive in ample time for 
the celebration. 

On the night before May Day, we 
prayed most earnestly and with full 
assurance; and on the morning of the 
first of May, while we were out help¬ 
ing pull away straw from around some 
strawberry plants and the time was 
growing closer to May-party time, we 
again decided to pray for the hats we 
so much desired; so, in perfect con¬ 
fidence, we bowed our little heads. 
Our prayers were humble and sincere, 
and as earnest and as fervent as our 
little lips could make them. 

I shall never forget the unspeakable 
joy that came to us later when we 
looked up, for, coming over the brow 
of the hill, we saw our good father 
carrying a real, “sure enough” hat box. 
We had to wash our hands before we 


could touch the three hats it contained; 
and, oh, such haste with the washing! 
There was our prayer answered right 
before us! 

The hats had been sent to us all the 
way from Illinois by a dear auntie, and 
they were truly the most beautiful hats 
we had ever owned. And coming as 
they did—we knew that we had not 
mentioned our great desire to any other 
than our three selves and that our 
prayers and our dreams were in secret 
—we adored them, we fairly revered 
them every time we put them on. 

As grown-ups, we haven't the child 
faith in miracles, but we know the 
supreme power of right. We enjoy 
the confidence of earnest effort re¬ 
warded, a confidence that urges us on 
and on to individual victories. Emer¬ 
son says: “Him we account the 
fortunate man whose determination to 
his aim is sufficiently strong to leave 
him no doubt.” 

* * * 

Always a sweet quietness comes into 
my heart when it is prayer time in 
church, or when I hear little folks' 
good-night prayers. Surely little chil¬ 
dren taught to kneel in prayerful spirit 
start aright, for through the stillness 
that surrounds them all else can be 
excluded but the recognition of the 
divine power that guides, guards, and 
encourages those who believe. 

A philosopher of my acquaintance, 
when asked his opinion, said, ‘ Why, yes, 
certainly I believe in the efficacy of 
prayer; and even if it had no greater 
power than to quiet one’s thoughts and 
help one to start anew, it would be a 
wonderful thing.” 

I believe in faith in God as a great 
principle, and especially because it is 
the safeguard of the human race. If 
we did not believe in the protecting 
power of an unseen force, we would not 
peacefully lie down at night and lose 




The Spirit of Prayer 


consciousness in sleep, for it is chiefly 
our belief in the safety of our loved 
ones and ourselves that makes this 
possible. 

I do not believe in supplication, in 
begging that we may be granted that 
for which we pray, but I believe in 
recognizing the power of God to help 
man face clearly his actual needs and 
then to express openly an earnest 
desire for them. To seek good for the 
sake of good is virtuous, and worthy 
reverence is always present in sincere 


prayer, which, even when unspoken, 
is an expression of faith and kindliness. 
Such prayers are always answered and 
often more fully than is anticipated. 
Learning to eliminate all but the to¬ 
tally essential from one’s wishes helps 
greatly in the sincerity and efficacy of 
prayer. 

In the words of the old hymn, 

“Prayer is the heart’s sincere desire, 
Uttered or unexpressed, 

The motion of a hidden fire 
That trembles in the breast.” 



Honest Purpose 


The Road to Progress 


O N MY desk stands a most com¬ 
forting calendar quotation—a 
calendar that Lady Mary 
Davies, of England, sent to me. The 
inscription reads: 

Whate’er the hidden future brings, 

Is helped by hands divine. 

Through all the tangled web of things, 
There runs a clear design. 

What, though the skies are dark today, 
Tomorrow’s may be blue, 

When every cloud has rolled away, 

God’s providence shines through. 

Some one seeing this and catching an 
optimistic remark that I made, said: 
“You are a cheerful sort of fatalist— 
you just seem to know that everything 
will come out all right.” This was a 
rejoinder I did not expect, and I had to 
hesitate a little before admitting that I 
am inclined that way. But, in de¬ 
fense, I made a declaration to the effect 
that I never let Fate paddle alone in 
Mr. Wish’s leaky boat. I learned long 
ago that a happier, safer ride could be 
had in the good substantial boat, 
“Honest Purpose,” especially when I 
was helping with the oars. I do 
actually hold that clouds roll away 
and that God’s providence becomes 
evident, for I believe, not as a “new 
thoughtist” but as an earnest thinker, 
that Good is more powerful than Evil 
and in every circumstance Good 
will eventually assert itself. I say, 
always, that sincere desire is unworded 
prayer and that if we are earnest 
and have an honest purpose, our prayer 
will be answered, and answered wholly 
in accord with our own sincerity and 
unselfishness. Wishing for things and 
praying for them are vastly different. 
Every day is ours to mold as we 


will. If we waste it in idle wishing, we 
must pay. If we build for the future 
by being faithful to our desires, we lay 
paving stones that make a safer and 
more comfortable road for the rest of 
our lives. 

I know a man who had never 
learned to read. An accident crippled 
him, and for two years he was miserable. 
As he said, “All I did was ‘set and set.’ ” 
He couldn’t get around, and he didn’t 
know what was going on. His little 
boy with school books aroused his 
interest, and then his desire for contact 
became so great that he not only 
learned to read, but studied and worked 
until he passed examinations that fitted 
him for the position of engineer, which 
he now holds. He says that he is 
grateful for his accident, because he had 
to start his own engine going, and he 
finds that there is much more fun run¬ 
ning God’s engine than even the very 
biggest steam locomotive “on the line.” 

I used to think that “laying aside 
funds for a rainy day” meant only 
money; but I have learned that there 
are several kinds of rainy-day funds. 
Knowledge of any constructive kind, 
any educational or humane hobby, is a 
rainy-day fund. It makes life inter¬ 
esting, develops appreciation, and 
teaches us the virtues of fidelity to 
honest purpose. Pioneering children 
along life’s pathway establishes at 
least a contented heart with which to 
visit on rainy days, just as does being a 
good neighbor. Every day we should 
accomplish something in a constructive 
way. Study, work, thinking—they all 
help to roll the clouds of inapprecia¬ 
tion away and to let God’s providence 
shine through. 




“Live Life Today” 

“As Though Today Were All’’ 


T O appreciate today fully, we 
need to call in an old friend of 
ten or fifteen years ago, talk 
over old times, go back over happen¬ 
ings of past years. In doing this, we 
are sure to look back with a little 
pang of regret and in our hearts admit 
that the bygone days and hours were 
very precious. 

We treasure these days in memory. 
Yet when we had them we did not for 
a moment realize what blessings we 
held in our very hands. We were 
continually peering into the future, 
planning for “the coming of our ship” 
or “the death of the rich uncle.” We 
missed the joy of the day in our 
curiosity about what the morrow 
would bring; we fretted because it 
detained us and held us back from the 
future. 

Ten years from now, when a friend 
of today comes in to “reminisce” 
with us about bygone days, we shall 
look back and think these pretty fine 
days. So, why wait to be reminded? 
Let us remind ourselves and do as 
Douglas Malloch bids us: 

“Live life today as though today were all— 
As though this very morning you were bom. 
Your yesterdays are days beyond recall; 
Tomorrow does not come until the morn. 
Rest not upon the victories you have won; 
Because you lost, surrender not to fear. 

Your yesterday was ended with the sun. 
Tomorrow has not come. Today is here.” 


About the best way to prevent your¬ 
self from getting peevish about every 
little thing that comes up, to lose 
completely the habit of having your 
feelings hurt when no hurt is meant, is 
to visit in a house where every indi¬ 
vidual is finding as much fault with the 
others as he possibly can. 

Those folks who whine and complain 
about little things forget all about 
them when a big trouble comes and 
rarely go back to the little worries 
again. Let’s not wait for a big trouble. 
Enjoy, be happy, and remember that 
only the big things should worry you. 

Little souls know little of heaven, 
no matter how much sun shines on 
their path. So why be little, peevish, 
or fretful? Learn to appreciate each 
individual day as it appears and to 
hunt for the good in it. Every day 
has a value of one hundred per cent. 
If we get only twenty-five per cent., 
we cheat ourselves and every one 
around us, for surely we prevent them 
from getting their full share when we 
fail to use all our own. Let’s make 
every day yield interest on its one 
hundred per cent, value, and we’ll 
have enough happiness to share with 
friends, especially with members of 
our own families. 

Company dispositions are like fat 
ladies’ corsets—always more comfort¬ 
able when worn continually. 




Thoughtlessness 


The Seed of Regret 


I HEARD a young mother say 
recently, “If our boy gets well, 
I’ll never again complain of 
scratches on the furniture, finger 
marks, or child untidiness, for with 
him here such things could never 
matter again.” 

I saw a woman for the first time 
meeting death in one she loved dearly. 
’Twas her first full realization that at 
least to the material there is an end. 
It surprised her, startled her. “Why, 
I never even thought that mother 
wouldn’t always be here, and to think 
I quarreled with her about the way she 
combed her hair and about her not 
fastening down her supporters.” 

I came upon a girl in deep thought 
and quite carelessly said, “A penny for 
them.” To my surprise, she spoke up 
and told me just what she was think¬ 
ing, how she had allowed a good friend 
to drift away through sheer careless¬ 
ness—hadn’t written, hadn’t been to 
see her, hadn’t even heard about her 
for a long time. Her indifference had 
cost her the joy of a precious friend¬ 
ship and besides had caused her many 
lonely moments of wondering as to 
whether or not the friend would ever 
understand and forgive. 

In greeting a young girl, I asked: 
“And how is Lou?” She looked quite 
blank and then said, “Oh, gracious me! 
I haven’t seen her in years.” I could 
not resist asking why, because only two 
years before this girl and Lou were 
inseparable, were together night and 
day. 

“Don’t you miss her?” 

“Oh, yes, sometimes, but she’s busy 
and so am I, and I guess she’s just 
forgotten and grown careless as I 
have.” 

Yet here was a friendship that 
seemed so sincere, so fresh, and buoyant 
enough to last always. Friendship 
blasted in youth is like the breaking 


of a young, stalwart tree that is full of 
promise. 

I once knew an old man, estranged 
from his brother for forty years over a 
selfish act on his part, who tottered in 
and asked permission to sit inside the 
door at his brother’s funeral service. 
Life was over for one and nearly over 
for the other. Self-centered ambition 
had kept them apart for half a life¬ 
time to the gain or happiness of neither. 

Once in a while it is well to stop 
and think what we give to our friends. 
Are we the kind who take and take and 
who forget that a friendship, to grow 
to be as sturdy as an oak, needs equal 
sharing? 

Self-importance is one of the most 
dangerous things I know. It can de¬ 
stroy homes, friendships, and future 
contentment for more people than any 
other one thing. And what does it all 
amount to anyway? If you yourself 
are busy giving and doing, you won’t 
have time to sit down and reckon how 
big an “I am” you are, to be slighted, 
hurt, or imposed on. There is no 
record anywhere of any one’s losing by 
loving, and there is yet to be found the 
unselfish person who has no friends. 

* * * 

I remember seeing in New York a 
highly amusing play, called “The Show- 
Off.” It was tragic in its reality, for 
all of us know people like the man in 
the play who was continually making a 
show of “my house,” “my car,” “my 
money,” “my everything,” while his 
poor family were working, saving, do¬ 
ing without, that he might “my” every¬ 
thing on the place. When you hear a 
woman talking about “my house,” “my 
garden,” “my chairs,” you may know 
that she has little else to talk about. 

When a family own everything 
mutually and think and plan for things 
in terms of “our house,” “our party,” 
“our happiness,” it’s almost sure to be a 




Thoughtlessness — 


happy, contented family, especially 
when they use the “my” only in relation 
to duty or responsibility. 

Stevenson says, “Better to lose 
health like a spendthrift than to waste 
it like a miser,” and surely the same is 
true of our affections. It’s better to 
give generously than to store up where 
time and disposition will shrivel them 
to nothingness. 


I think, if I were a minister, I would 
take, some beautiful Sunday morning, 
the text: 

WHAT DO WE GIVE? 

And, after reasoning all the points 
well, my conclusion, I know, would be, 
“Unless we can give of love, we have no 
right to life, let alone friendships or the 
love of others.” 



Every Woman's House 


Her Castle 


N OT long ago, I went to visit a 
woman who lived in what she 
called her “little shotgun 
house”—three rooms straight in a 
row like the barrel of a gun—first the 
parlor, then the bedroom, then the 
kitchen and dining room, the division 
here being simply suggested by the 
table at one window and the stove near 
the other. Never have I been more 
sincerely and joyously welcomed, and 
never have I seen a cleaner house, nor 
two happier persons than my friend, 
Ella, and Jim, her husband. 

Ella is a plump little creature with a 
generous waist line, made even more 
generous-looking upon the occasion of 
my visit by a bountiful checked ging¬ 
ham apron, the border of which was 
ten or twelve inches deep and represent¬ 
ed three pairs of doves, each carefully 
worked in cross-stitch with white 
thread. I had not seen such an apron 
in a long time; it was like accidently 
running across a treasured trinket 
when housecleaning or when hunting 
for something else. 

Ella had several different patterns 
of these aprons, which she showed to 
me with much pride and appreciation. 

She wore the apron over a spick- 
and-span clean dress, faded from wash¬ 
ing until it was neither white nor 
colored. Her hair was drawn back into 
a smooth knot, while two sidecombs 
joined forces with the hairpins to keep 
every stray lock in place. 

The very clumsiness of the fat, 
chubby hands enhanced their depend¬ 
ableness as I saw them turning the 
worn collar and wristbands on Jim’s 
shirt, and then busily fixing the even¬ 
ing meal and washing the dishes while 
Jim and I sat in the kitchen and 
looked on. I felt as if they could be 
very, very comforting hands, and when 
the fingers gathered round a plate or a 
cup, their every movement told of 


appreciation, realization, and content¬ 
ment. 

Ella had used her Sunday dishes 
because I was there, and with great 
pride she showed me her sixty-three 
piece set, explaining that one nicked 
saucer and a crack in one cup were the 
only breakages she had had. 

Jim earns a nominal wage running an 
elevator, their two children have mar¬ 
ried and gone, and here these twin- 
hearted souls are living on, happy and 
proud of each other. They have found 
richness of life. When ten minutes 
after six came, Ella was eagerly listen¬ 
ing for the one step that spelled com¬ 
pleteness of life for her. Her Jim was 
there—he was hers completely and 
entirely. She believed in him more 
than in herself because her mantle of 
affection made him the living embodi¬ 
ment of all manliness. Jim could not 
possibly deceive her, for there was a 
simple, perfect understanding between 
them. 

A man recently wrote in a book 
about his visit to Emerson during the 
great philosopher’s last days. This 
man pictured the frailties evidenced by 
this world-loved old man a few weeks 
before his going away. My senses 
fairly ached as I read. Just seeing 
Emerson should have made this man 
big enough to have gone away and 
forever silenced his tongue on the 
memory and forgotten everything 
except the greatness of his own privi¬ 
lege. 

I do not want to err, as I feel this 
man did, in telling you of the visit with 
my friends Ella and Jim; rather, I 
want to write clearly enough that, 
should they read this, they will realize 
that clean poverty is like the fire of 
God, and that contentment, confidence, 
and sincere belief in another are the 
greatest of the great possessions. I 
might go to sumptuous homes and be 




Every Woman’s House 


consumed with desire for luxuries, but 
theirs is a home where the beacon light 
of love glorifies its very humbleness. 

When I look from within myself at 
these good friends, their simple little 
house, their unaffectedness, I rejoice in 
their peace. No matter to them if 
storms roar outside or the street-car 
men strike or the papers cry “hard 
times.” These two people will love 
on, trust on, and daily grow more 
firmly attached to God and Truth. 
For love, the kind that endures, the 
kind that they know, has God’s 
benediction. A splendid house is not 
necessary for the happiness of these 
good people. They know no conven¬ 
iences, yet they have peace within. 


They know industry, kindness, and 
love, and these have provided treasured 
wealth for them. 

The other night I read Robert 
Herrick’s “The Master of the Inn,” 
and I felt, were it possible, I should 
like to write a book and call it “The 
Woman of the Home,” where I would 
place the woman of every household on 
the same pedestal of unselfish devotion 
that Herrick put this great master. 

A woman, according to her love and 
energy, can make her home an abode of 
peace, a place of protection from the 
winds of the world, a castle for her love, 
and a shrine to her own womanliness. 
God made women to help men, so He 
gave them the greater devotion. 



Be Grateful 


Let Us Not Forget 


ABOUT the only time we ever 
ZA stop to realize how glorious it is 
A to be well enough to go and 
come as we will is when we are indis¬ 
posed for a day and have to stay at 
home. Funny thing the way we 
accept good health as a matter of 
course, just like good drinking water 
or hot coffee for breakfast! We never 
think how seemingly necessary it is 
until we are deprived of it. 

It’s a pity that we take so much for 
granted—our food, our clothes, a bed 
to sleep in—why, of course, we have 
all of them. But go roughing it some 
time and sleep on a sparce, ill-equipped 
bed for a night or two. You will then 
appreciate, as you never did before, 
your own good bed at home. 

We all grow so used to having things 
done for us—this is taken care of, that 
is looked after—that we get out of the 
habit of doing them for ourselves. 
But let the paper boy forget to leave 
the paper just one evening, and we are 
lost completely. We would insistently 
help to get him “fired” from his route; 
yet day after day, sun or rain, he brings 
the paper, and we are conscious of its 
importance only when we miss getting 
it just once. 

* * * 

Habit causes us to accept family, 
friends, comforts, and pleasures as a 
matter of course. Every now and then 
we should find ourselves without them 
all, just to learn to appreciate them 
the more. 

I have heard it said that no girl can 
ever truly appreciate her mother until 
she has children of her own and finds 
herself loving, planning, sacrificing 
for them. Then she can understand 
how her mother felt and will be grate¬ 
ful and humble and appreciative in 
proportion. 


I told a little nephew the other day 
to say a good-night prayer for a friend 
who was ill. The little boy, who was 
once very ill himself, lifted his bright, 
happy face and said, “Aunt Mary, 
there must have been a lot of prayers 
said for me, ‘cause see how well I am. 
I know mother’s prayers helped doctor 
because he knew what to do without 
anybody telling him. ” It was wonder¬ 
ful to see the appreciation in the child’s 
eyes, a kind of appreciation that is 
even more than gratitude. 

I have always felt I could be grate¬ 
ful for charity, but I could appreciate 
love and kindness. And that is what 
we need, it seems to me, more than any¬ 
thing else—to be kind, to leave folks 
alone who want to be alone, to help, 
encourage, and comfort those who 
need us, to say a happy word when a 
happy word is wanted, but never to be 
guilty of doling out kindness as we 
would plant beans, never more than 
the specified amount. 

* * * 

Not long ago I was in Philadelphia, 
and I visited Independence Hall, 
Betsy Ross’ House, Congress Hall, and 
other landmarks of our great indepen¬ 
dence. Everything there reminded 
me of the sacrifices that were made for 
our freedom, comfort, and well-being, 
and I wondered a dozen times and more 
whether we appreciated it all as we 
should or whether we were in the habit 
of accepting it as we do the daily 
paper, forgetting how much real effort 
had gone before to give us our many 
great privileges. If, deep in our hearts, 
we are grateful in proportion to the 
good that is ours, then we are sure to 
know a kind of Peace and Thanks¬ 
giving that can make us kin to all the 
world. 




This Passing Moment 


The Essential One 


“This passing moment is an edifice 

Which the Omnipotent cannot rebuild.” 

HE realization of this does not 
daunt nor discourage me, but 
makes me appreciate, as never 
before, the utter preciousness of the 
moments of every day. Time, like 
youth, is most valued when it is past, 
and with thinking people that should 
not be so. We should learn to live so 
as to appreciate the days as they greet 
us and to get from each one the great¬ 
est possible benefit. 

A long time ago, I caught myself 
thinking about yesterday and to¬ 
morrow and not about the day and 
moment in which I was living, and as 
I looked around, I found that many 
others were doing the same—looking 
into their pockets and feeling that they 
were paying for yesterday and at the 
same time straining every nerve to 
peep over the transom into the rooms 
of tomorrow. 

Since then I have tried and failed 
often, but started anew many times 
to use today as best I know so that 
there will be no regrets. 

This does not mean that I work 
every waking moment. I often have 
play times, but the play hours generate 
the best work that I do, for they are 
almost invariably happy hours and 
days, and therefore, storing-up days, 
when I unconsciously make ready for a 
big day of constructive doing. 

I have found that the most produc¬ 
tive way in which to use the moments 
constructively is to approach them with 
an open heart and mind, unburdened 
by self-pity, self-depreciation, or ego¬ 
tism. 


Not long ago I traveled into another 
state to see a girlhood friend who had 
just lost a much-loved little daughter. 
This mother has a good husband, two 
fine boys, a pleasant home, and many 
comforts. The little girl who had gone, 
was ten years old, a wholly lovable 
creature. As I sensed the loss of the 
child, I could not help turning my 
thoughts back ten years, especially as 
the mother repeated so often, “Why, 
we had everything for our little girl, 
and had planned so much for her edu¬ 
cation and training.” 

Before this little girl was born, the 
mother came to me evidencing much 
unhappiness. How could they ever 
afford this baby? They had their 
home to pay for, and the husband was 
just beginning in his business. The 
coming of the baby was as a calamity, 
the mother suffering all the possible 
pangs of poverty, trying to figure out 
how this one little child could be fed 
and clothed. Her worry, of course, 
proved needless for the physical com¬ 
forts were provided and the little girl 
won her way into their hearts so that 
her loss brought overwhelming pain. 

My mother friend is a typical 
example of human nature. We worry 
when good approaches and experience 
pain when it leaves us. We are not 
permitted to see into the future enough 
to know what is bad and what is good 
in the joys and sorrows that come to us. 
So we should learn to accept things 
with the venturesome spirit of youth 
—receive them at face value and refuse 
to worry about anything that does not 
represent a definite loss to the heart 
and soul. 





Beauty Spots 


Cleanly Simplicity 


W ALKING down the street the 
other day, I saw a shabby 
little doll on some half 
tumbled-down steps and a little girl 
five or six years of age with a worn-out 
broom, energetically sweeping the 
ground. I watched her as I came near 
and I remarked, “My, but you are a 
good sweeper.” She lifted her little 
face and said, “I’s making a clean place 
for my dolly and me to play at.” 

This is a beautiful thought, express¬ 
ing one of the most essential threads 
in our garment of life—“a clean place 
f or my dolly and me.’’ If every woman 
would only love her family as this little 
girl loved her dolly—enough to keep 
things clean for them—life would be 
different for her and for those she 
should treasure. 

The woman who loves her family 
enough to tidy herself up for their 
home coming, who provides a clean 
table and attractive food, if possible, 
for her family to eat, who happily 
keeps her floor swept clean, is building 
for herself in the hearts of her people 
tender memories and appreciation, 
which, though not expressed, will reflect 
in their lives over and over again and 
will help them in being kind and lov¬ 
ingly considerate of some one else. 
And, after all, that is the way rewards 
should be expressed. They should 
travel down through the years to serve 
as good examples. 

Some women say that they haven’t 
anything to do with, but the only 
people that I have ever known who 
didn’t have anything to do with were 
those who did not have the desire to do. 
There are people living now who can 
tell of the dugouts out in Kansas before 
there was lumber or money there to 
build houses. These dugouts were 
caves in the ground with dirt floors, 
but many a time I have heard folks tell 
how cozy they were and how very clean 


and smooth the earth floors were kept. 
The women had no conveniences, yet 
they built happy hearthstones and gave 
a good start to their children. Kansas 
is a great state, and much of its great¬ 
ness today is due to the love and un¬ 
selfishness of its far-visioned pioneers. 

I once visited a woman who lived 
in a box car on a railroad siding. A 
new piece of railroad was being built, 
and her husband was supervising 
engineer. A cleaner little place I have 
never seen, a soft cream color inside 
with white curtains on the four win¬ 
dows that had been cut in the sides of 
the car. The furniture, except the 
bed, table, and stove, were made from 
boxes painted in cream color and 
finished by means of white scarfs and 
curtains. Blue denim covered two 
trunks and several boxes, which served 
as seats. A box of pink geraniums 
was in each window, having been care¬ 
fully packed and carried from the city. 

She happily told how some of the 
men who worked on the road would 
come and ask to look in because 
“ ‘twas all so pretty.” 

I asked if it was difficult to keep the 
scarfs, curtains, table cloths, and 
bedding white, and the answer was: 
“Yes, quite a problem, but not so 
difficult as to do without them.” 

The husband of this little woman 
is going forward to a splendid success. 
They no longer live in the isolated 
region nor in the box car. I have often 
thought, as I have heard from these 
people, that this treasure woman is a 
true example of the old quotation: 
“Many women are like candles, finding 
their brightest moments serving others. 
‘Tis they who joyfully consume them¬ 
selves in lighting the way for their 
loved ones.” 

“Give that ye may receive,” is 
instruction that we hear, forget, and 
fail to heed; yet application of it can 




Beauty Spots 


mean literally picking up a life of happi¬ 
ness instead of misery. Give smiles if 
you have nothing else. Give en¬ 
couragement, good cheer. Make 
beauty come to you through your 
desire to express it. Your thoughts, 
deeds, motives, acts, industries, and 
desires—all can express beauty if 


beauty is in the heart; all can give 
happiness if love is the carrying vehicle. 

Sweep a clean place for you and your 
loved ones to “play at.” Learn to love 
people and their little ways—odd, 
queer, or lovely. Love folks and your 
work, and you will be doing a big part 
of what God wants you to do. 



Happy Thinking 


Our Point of View 


H APPINESS is such a big, gener¬ 
ous, understandable word that 
I really delight in using it. I 
sat the other day, feeling much de¬ 
pressed, and unconsciously my pencil 
wrote H-a-p, and then it seemed the 
other letters needed to spell happiness 
just naturally connected themselves 
to these first three letters. When I 
glanced at the paper and saw the word 
complete, I was interested. I was not 
conscious of having written it. 

The word and its effect reminded me 
of a similar circumstance that a friend 
told me about. This friend had gone 
to bed thoroughly discouraged and bur¬ 
dened with self-pity. As she was lying 
there, magnifying every conceivable 
discomfiture, she heard a member of the 
household arguing with a man who had 
a big cartload of sand to deliver, the 
man insisting that the sand belonged 
at her number. She looked out of the 
window and saw the sand, and her 
sense of humor immediately became 
evident. Sand! That was exactly 
what she needed, a mental sand tonic 
to stimulate her appreciation and to 
increase her tolerance. 

The sand was delivered at a cor¬ 
responding number in the next block, 
but the driver, unknowingly, had ac¬ 
complished a good deed, for the humor 
of the situation brought smiles, and 
smiles always eradicate worry wrinkles. 

Recently I visited a very good friend 
who had lost her daughter and whose 
son had moved across the continent. 


Knowing this mother's great affection 
for her two children, I dreaded con¬ 
versation with her. I said, when start¬ 
ing, that I would do almost anything 
rather than go. But I went and I 
stayed three whole hours. We talked 
about fruit, flowers, the school prob¬ 
lems, and we discussed our cherished 
authors. Then we talked of astrology 
and astronomy, of God and nature. I 
never had a more delightful visit. 

I came home feeling happier and 
more enthusiastic than usual. But 
when I arrived there, the folks began 
to sympathize with me, thinking that I 
had spent an unpleasant evening. 
Then I remembered how I felt when I 
started out. Was it possible that this 
delightful woman had so recently 
known a great grief! As I thought 
about it, I marveled at her power of 
adjustment, her poise, her command 
of herself. She, a cultured woman, 
capable of the finest feelings, had 
endured so much! But she was my 
hostess, and she felt it her duty to make 
me happy, and in doing it she was bene¬ 
fited, for she verily radiated happiness 
and good cheer. 

Happiness needs no trifling acces¬ 
sories, for it is in itself omnipotent. 
It takes hold in the heart, builds its 
nest, and brings forth its own birds to 
sing for you. Think of the happy 
women you know, and you are sure to 
find them the busiest. Idle women 
have time for hate and envy, slights 
and misunderstandings. 




Goodness Not Enough 


Give From the Heart 


T HE first and great step necessary 
to live rightly is to be charitable 
and tolerant, to love the teach¬ 
ings of life and love, to believe in God; 
and the next and most tedious step is 
to back up that belief by actual doing. 
As a little poem that comes to my mind 
says: 

Who does his task from day to day, 

And meets whatever comes his way, 
Believing Truth needs have it so, 

Has found true greatness here below. 

To be good, industrious, kind, and 
true is to be happy, and happy, kindly 
folks are always the joy of a household 
and the foundation of right family life. 

Jesus was thoughtful, not of Him¬ 
self but of those around Him. He did 
not grieve nor resent his tasks, but 
worked faithfully, persistently, and 
agreeably for the comfort and peace of 
others. 

The mother who complains of her 
tasks and grumbles at the sometimes 
thread-bareness of her life, leaves an 
indelible mark on the sensitive mind 
of a child growing up, a mark that 
may take years of perseverance in liv¬ 
ing to eradicate. If mothers could 
only see this at the time and realize 
the burden of such resentments, life, 
even if tedious, would be greatly more 
precious. 

If all the mothers and sisters, and all 
those women not blessed with children 
could realize that they can radiate 
happiness in their own homes, that 
they can send the other members of 
their families out into contact with the 
day’s activities invigorated and fit for a 
day’s progress by being unselfish in 
their thoughts, inspiration, and service, 
the world would experience a renais¬ 
sance such as has never been known in 
history. 

The privilege of responsibility for 


great men and women, for great poli¬ 
tical, civic, and moral life, centers 
chiefly in our womenfolk who feed the 
thought channels of the young. 

It is not enough to teach children 
what is right or wrong; they must be 
inspired by seeing and appreciating 
right things. The greatest problem of 
education is the development of per¬ 
sonality, which comes through an 
understanding of life and through love 
that makes for human sympathy, 
and this can and must be brought 
about through the avenues of right 
interest. 

The minister of a church, the teacher 
in school, represent the Heart Service 
of those institutions. The mother or 
homemaker in the home represents the 
Heart Service of the home, and this 
service of kindness, sincerity, helpful¬ 
ness, and optimism should be as 
generously and happily given as is 
humanly possible. To build up an 
institution of good work and influence, 
individuals must be generous with tools, 
stone, and mortar. A stingy use of 
materials never made a great building; 
a stingy friendship never aroused the 
the soul of man or woman. 

Every woman’s home is her busi¬ 
ness—a corporation with her at the 
head. This is both a great respon¬ 
sibility and a great privilege. The 
woman who smiles happily, who keeps 
bitterness out by the sweetness of her 
own thought, industry, and attitude, 
and who persistently and determinedly 
works for success for her own, will find 
it, for, as Longfellow says, “The talent 
of success is nothing more than doing 
what you can do well and doing well 
whatever you do without a thought of 
fame. When it comes, it will come 
because it is deserved, not because it is 
sought after.” 







Treasures 


Yours and Mine 


W HEN I was a little girl in the 
country, there used to be a 
big white house about a mile 
up the road from ours. There was a 
long driveway in front, beautiful trees 
all around, and evidences everywhere 
that those who occupied it were persons 
of means. 

Our house was plain, for we were 
poor. We boasted only some tall 
poplars, a luscious honeysuckle vine, a 
beautiful grape arbor, and a hah dozen 
bushes of old-fashioned yellow roses, 
but we were rich in health, happiness, 
and freedom. 

I remember once when we were at 
the big white house for Sunday dinner. 
At home we had just an old organ with 
a broken pedal that you had to pump 
hard to make “go.” But at the big 
house they had a piano, and after 
dinner, we all went into the parlor to 
hear the daughter play. In her pride 
of ownership, she cautioned my sister 
and me not to touch the piano, and 
she took a piece of velvet scrap to lift 


the lid. That little piece of velvet 
made a tremendous impression on me. 
I wondered for days if all people of 
wealth touched their furniture with 
velvet and if the shades of their parlor 
windows were always drawn. But 
later I learned that the bigger people 
are, the freer they are with their 
treasures. 

There was a woman who won her 
way into my heart to stay always 
because she let me hold her precious 
little baby one morning while she 
dressed to go to church. And an old 
man put a halo round his head in my 
estimation when he loaned me some 
treasured old books because he thought 
I would enjoy them. And he loaned 
them without even asking me to cover 
the backs. 

I don’t believe it will ever be in me 
to hoard things from others, for I have 
learned through joy and regret how 
wonderful it is to receive from others 
and to touch sacredly the things they 
treasure. 




Catching, the Bus 


Selfish Success 


I SAW a man run around the corner 
and across the street to catch a 
Fifth Avenue bus. He knocked 
off another man’s hat and caused a 
woman to drop two packages; he 
crowded a mother with her little son 
as they entered the bus; he caught his 
watch chain on the door and broke it. 
When he had crammed himself into a 
seat and settled himself, he evidenced 
great concern about his chain, fingering 
it continually. 

I could not help observing his rest¬ 
lessness. He was not sure that he was 
on the right bus, or of his stop, and had 
hurried so that he seemed unable to 
relax and to enjoy the trip. And worst 
of all, his mind was so perturbed that 
he could not see any one of the human 
beings who rode in the bus with him. 


Thought travels miles in fifty blocks, 
and as the bus rumbled along, making 
the awkward stops and starts, I could 
not help comparing this man with folks 
I know who have made just such a run 
for the bus of success. They are heed¬ 
less of all around them, have but one 
aim—to get there! They crowd on 
every side, trample down, and, when 
they arrive, find that they have broken 
every link in their own chain of human 
sympathy. 

When they are seated, I wonder just 
how comfortable they feel inside. I 
wonder what the faces of others mean 
to them. I wonder whether they 
know any of the little secret runways 
to hearts or can find in the dark the 
switch of human contact that will 
make eyes bright with happiness. 




Little Things 


They Make for Big Ones 


P INCHING oneself to feel the 
hurt is an all too common human 
frailty. I know a woman who 
denies herself every good thing in 
worrying about what ill could come. 
“Yes, the day is all right, but we need 
winter weather for good health. Sure 
to be a lot of sickness with the sun 
shining so bright this time of year.” 

“Yes, I’d like to go to the movies, 
but there is sure to be some one reading 
the lines out loud, and I can’t stand 
that.” 

“Yes, that’s all right for some folks, 
but if I did that I’d have a headache 
for two days.” 

“If she goes, I’m not going.” 

Folks like her just won’t be happy, 
even when the chance is given them. 

I once had a letter which fairly 
shocked me. A woman wrote the 
news of her family, then at the close 
said, “I’m praying every day that 
the world will come to an end and 
put us all out of our misery.” 

I thought, “Good gracious, I’m not 
ready for the world to come to an end, 
not by any means. Why, if I didn’t 
take on another idea—and I truly am 
enthusiastic when it comes to good 
ideas—I could not possibly be ready 
for the end of the world for ten years 
yet. And ten years from now, I know 
I shall have the next ten happily 
planned, for I want to have all the 
happiness that is possible.” 

I have no intention of pinching my¬ 
self to feel the hurt. Life is too full, 
too big; there is too much joy in the 
future for that. 

* * * 

I once saw an advertisement with 
a heading, “Noticed but not Notice¬ 
able,” and it appealed to me as a 
good slogan for us womenfolks—a 
good guide in matters of dress. 

No one wants to dress so as to be 


wholly unnoticed, neither does any one 
want to be noticeably conspicuous, and 
this applies not only to dress, but to 
hats, gloves, shoes, and even perfume. 

A gaudy pair of yellow gloves can 
make hands noticeably clumsy; a clean 
pair of white or gray ones will be 
noticed because of their clean freshness. 

The indulgent use of perfume stifles, 
annoys, and is easily traced. A faint 
scent is delightfully mysterious— 
noticed always, but never offensively 
noticeable. 

Often we hear: “Did you notice 
how becoming Eleanor’s lovely frock 
was?” “Mrs. So and So’s dress was 
noticeably in bad taste.” “Jeanette’s 
tie was noticeably gaudy.” “Oh, 
yes, I noticed that exquisitely dainty 
collar, dainty enough to have been 
hand-made.” “Did you notice Isa¬ 
bel’s collar and cuffs? They were so 
jaunty and smart.” “She would have 
looked very lovely if her shoes had not 
been so noticeably untidy.” 

The little things we often forget, but 
we should try to wear every detail of 
clothing so that, if noticed, it will be a 
credit, never a reflection. And a rule, 
perhaps more definite than all others, is 
that one should never, never wear any¬ 
thing that is noticeably unbecoming. 

* * * 

“If you have any roses for me, let me 
have them now” is a saying that has 
much merit. How quick we are to 
complain of faults, a little slight, a little 
thoughtlessness. A little grievance 
grows as we think about it and as we 
talk about it, and that we are sure to 
do. But let something good happen, 
something thoughtful, something that 
was a real help, and we accept it as a 
matter of course and say little about it. 
And day after day we go along accept¬ 
ing the good as a natural consequence 
with little appreciation, and then are 




Little Things 


ready to fight over the least little awk¬ 
ward or thoughtless thing. 

We forget to say the good things 
about folks until they are gone, and 
then angels they actually seem. We 
never realized before how wonderful, 
how kind, how unselfish they were. 
We surround them with roses whose 


petals fairly flutter with praise, yet 
nary a one would we have given them 
if they had lived and helped and be¬ 
friended us in the unselfish way we 
recognize so clearly when they are gone. 

So let's give the roses every day. A 
petal of cheer now is worth a dozen 
roses after a while. 



The Value of Time 


Every Hour Precious 


T HE Japanese proverb, “Be not 
lenient with your own faults; 
keep your pardon for others/’ is 
an exceptionally good one to remember 
when one is tempted to procrastinate. 

A little after four o’clock the other 
afternoon I left my office, and as I 
went out I heard a girl say, “Oh, it 
is too late tonight. I’ll get after it 
tomorrow.” I walked scarcely a block 
down the street when I heard a young 
man say to another, “It’s late now; 
suppose I do that tomorrow.” I went 
directly to the office of a man who is 
one of the most successful men in our 
city and as a result one whose time is 
very precious. I mentioned some 
things that should be done. His 
answer was, “We will decide them right 
now.” And as each point was brought 
up, decisions Were made and progress 
with each problem became possible. 

Lack of decision is the subtle germ 
of procrastination. It is always easy 
to go ahead after you have decided 
how you will proceed. For instance, 
to make a dress, you do not have to be 
seated at the sewing machine to decide 
the color, design, and decoration. 

I should never be able to read or to 
study if I waited for time in which to 
accomplish it. My interest makes me 
utilize every moment. Recently I 
became particularly interested in a 
subject, procured the correspondence 
lessons regarding it, and set about to 
study for the information. I never 
found time at any one sitting to answer 
more than two questions. Often I 
would accomplish but one answer. I 
roughed it out on scrap paper and 
copied it later, and this plan gave me a 
review that was very advantageous. 

We can accomplish anything that we 
have the necessary determination for— 
study, growth, progress of every kind 
—if we use intelligently and oppor¬ 
tunely every available moment; and, 


conversely, we can so overlook the 
value of time that, when a reckoning 
finally comes, we have only regrets and 
wasted opportunities to look back upon. 

I know a woman with a family who, 
at ten o’clock in the morning, fifteen 
years ago, made a practice of saying 
that she did not have a thing to do 
for the remainder of the day. This 
woman is now saying she hasn’t 
anything to do but worry because her 
daughters are ashamed of her. I 
personally know that the daughters 
are very unhappy because their mother 
has not progressed with them and 
other mothers they know. This mother 
casually looks at pictures in a magazine 
and is through with it. She has not 
read a book in many years, has no 
appreciation of pretty clothes, and 
no skill in making them. Her home 
is not attractive, and yet she worries 
because her children are not proud 
of her. 

As a child, Washington wrote in his 
copybook, “Labor to keep alive in your 
heart that little spark of celestial fire 
called conscience.” I have always 
felt that this mother should have 
labored to be conscientious regarding 
her own time and what she could 
accomplish with it. She has wasted a 
fortune in time alone and has had no 
happiness meanwhile, because happy 
hearts cannot stay with idle hands. To 
be happy inside, to grow in thought, to 
keep young, to be interesting, all of 
which are essential to success, one must 
fix the heart upon living every day, 
learning as much as one can, and giv¬ 
ing as much happiness and helpful¬ 
ness as possible. Fix your heart upon 
doing these things and be enthusiastic 
about achieving them, remembering 
that enthusiasm, interest, and belief 
in oneself are the genii of sincere ac¬ 
complishment and the very torch of 
victory. 




Good Listeners 


Let Others Talk 


1 USED to think that a good listener 
must necessarily be a good talker, 
a prolific reader, and an informative 
conversationalist. But I know two 
very good listeners who “Is that so?” 
and “I declare!” you to all heights of 
eloquence, yet, when the conversation 
depends upon them, they have nothing 
to say. They listen, but like a trolley 
car running over a track, their thoughts 
never stop long enough to make an 
impression on the rails. They listen, 
but nothing sinks in. Still, such empty 
folks are really more comfortable to 
have around than people who must talk 
regardless of what there is to say or 
who there is to listen. 

I know a man who came home from 
ten years’ absence and a trip around the 
world with much to say and but a short 
time to say it in, for he was to leave in 
four days on another long voyage, to 
be gone perhaps ten years longer. His 
father, when asked the news that the 
boy brought home, said he heard him 
make just four statements. And that 
was true, for every time the son ven¬ 
tured a little detail of his travels, a 
maiden aunt, much excited at the boy’s 


return and consequently very loquaci¬ 
ous, spoke up with: “And when we 
went to Niagara Falls.” And when 
he tried to tell of his ocean voyages, 
auntie started to tell of when she went 
by boat from Boston to Providence. 

Ten years were added to the father’s 
age because of his disappointment. 
He had dreamed for a long time of the 
boy’s coming home and of hearing of his 
trips and something of what he was 
doing. But auntie explained to the 
neighbors that Will was a quiet fellow 
and she had to do all the talking, never 
realizing that to one who has been 
away a long time there is need of getting 
acquainted all over again, that the 
muse must strike a quiet person, and 
that the situation must be right for 
conversation. 

Surely there is a time to talk and a 
time to keep still. If one is certain 
that one can make a more valuable or 
interesting contribution to the con¬ 
versation than anyone else, then it is 
well to talk. But when the days and 
hours are precious and there’s much to 
be said, smile and listen. Everybody 
will be glad of it afterward. 




Kingdoms of Friendship 


Work for Them 


C ICERO says of friendship: “As 
for myself, I can only exhort 
you to look on friendship as the 
most valuable of human possessions.” 

I once knew of a family traveling 
across the country. The little daugh¬ 
ter became critically ill. The parents 
were homeless and in extreme distress. 
The father sat overpowered with fear 
of the disease. Then suddenly he 
remembered that he had a friend. 

His face immediately lost its tight¬ 
ness, and he started with his family to 
drive to a city forty-five miles away. 
He drove rapidly, while his wife held 
the sick girl close to her heart to 
prevent the jar of the wagon from rack¬ 
ing out the bit of life that was left. 
They arrived in the city at four o’clock 
in the afternoon, and there was the 
good doctor. “Hello, John! Wherein 
the world—this sick girl yours? Let me 
see. ” And with that he picked the little 
girl up, took her into his house, threw 
off his coat, opened and rolled up his 
white stiff cuffs, and went to work. 

All night he sat beside the little girl. 
Every hour the next day and all the 
next night he watched close for every 
encouraging sign. And the little girl 
gradually got well. 

The father offered to pay from his 
slender purse, but the great doctor 
protested, saying, “Why, my pay is in 
the saving of the girl. I know how 
your old heart would ache for the little 
curly head, and I couldn’t bear to 
think of that. Besides, do you re¬ 
member all the kind things you did for 
me when I didn’t know enough to take 
care of myself?” 

And so it ended. But the good 
doctor had made friends to love him 
always, and they realized that greater 
than his skill, greater than his manli¬ 
ness, were his appreciation and under¬ 
standing of human hearts. 

* * * 


A young man with a wife, a house, 
furniture to pay for, many guests to 
entertain, found himself with greater 
expenses than his salary could meet. 
Then the dreaded day arrived when 
debt was the only thing he could see. 
His heart was with his wife and his 
home, but lack of reckoning had carried 
them too far. 

One evening an old man, cheaply 
but neatly dressed, came—dropped in 
just after supper for a little visit. 
The next day he returned to the young 
man and loaned him, without security, 
two thousand dollars. 

“I see you are too near the dam; 
this will pull you back, and to shore.” 

The young man could not compre¬ 
hend why this workman, this old man 
in overalls, should be so conscious of 
his need. His joy over the money and 
his surprise made it impossible for him 
to question. Later, when the money 
was all paid back, he asked his bene¬ 
factor why, and his reply was: 

“I know an honest heart, my boy, 
and you have always been good to me. 
When my wife died, do you remember, 
you spoke so kindly and came out to see 
me; and when I was sick the winter 
before last, you made me stay home. 
And do you remember the rubber 
boots you gave me for Christmas? 
Then, when I came to see you, you 
treated me as a friend. And your 
wife—she loves you. These things 
told me that my money was safe, and 
anyway it was only the savings of an 
old man, and I knew that for the time 
you could use it better than I.” 

Was this friendship, love, or affec¬ 
tion? Anyway, a kingdom of friend¬ 
ship was built up of three hearts, which 
even death could not demolish. 

* * * 

A philosopher of eminent renown 
knew a young woman ambitious to 
write. They were friends from the 




Kingdoms of Friendship 


first. She asked a world of questions 
and his great heart answered. He gave 
good encouragement in tutoring, was 
patient and commending, entirely 
rebuilding sometimes, but always build¬ 
ing a greater castle through his criticism 
before tearing down the first one. 

It would seem that he had given all, 
and the young woman nothing. But 
suddenly he discovered that through 
the ripeness of her questions, through 
the live, pulsating work that she 
struggled for, youth came surging into 
the lines of his own pen and he came to 
rely on her as much for inspiration as 
she on him for maturity of judgment. 

And so another kingdom was estab¬ 
lished. 

A little girl ran away from her step¬ 
mother, and a friend found it out and 
went a long distance to recover the girl. 
She brought her back, kept her for a 
year, and actually rebuilt a character 
that had been allowed too much selfish¬ 
ness to grow normally. 

When asked why she had done so 
much for the girl, she replied, “I did it 
for her own mother.” 

“But why for her?” 

“Well, because a long time ago, 
when I had to do our washing and 
wasn’t very strong, this girl’s mother 


always used to slip over when the 
clothes were ready for the line and 
hang them up for me. And often on 
wash day she prepared a nice tray or 
made lunch for me in her house, and 
many times while I sewed for her she 
ironed for me, or when I had company 
she made the dessert or salad or came 
and helped with the table. We spent 
many happy hours together in such 
comradeship. She would have done 
much or more for my daughter. Why 
shouldn’t I do for hers?” 

* * * 

These are homely little incidents 
with which I am familiar. I know 
of many others, and the more of them 
I see and know about as the days go by, 
the more I realize that great friendships 
are priceless and ever to be cherished, 
for they give as much security as 
joy. 

We should always welcome the oppor¬ 
tunity to do a thoughtful thing. 
Thoughtfulness is love’s carrier pigeon, 
bringing to the hearts of our friends 
continued proof of our permanency and 
sincerity. We may not understand 
our neighbors, but we can watch with 
them for good, and, if we are generous, 
make them very dear to us and find in 
the nearness of their friendship the very 
goal of good fortune. 



Builders for Eternity 


Stepping Stones 


"Isn’t it strange that Princes and Kings 
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings, 
And just plain folks like you and me, 

Are builders for Eternity? 

To each is given a bag of tools, 

A shapeless mass and a book of rules; 

And each must make ere life is flown, 

A stumbling block, or a stepping stone.” 

I HEARD a young woman say the 
other day, “Oh, I give up. What’s 
the use of my trying to be anybody 
or trying to have nice things? My 
ambitions only make me restless and 
miserable.” 

But we all know that ambitions once 
entertained are hard to lose. The 
farther you come from attaining them, 
the more miserable you will be. Hence 
the need of continual effort. 

To the woman who says, “What’s 
the use?” one might say: “What’s the 
use of working, of washing the dishes, 
of getting up in the mornings, of liking 
air and sunshine and pretty things? 

There isn’t any real use, perhaps, in 
it all, but it is, oh so satisfying, to go 
into a kitchen to cook dinner where 
everything is happily clean and in 
place. 

What a satisfying, luxurious feeling 
it is to crawl into a well-made, cozy bed. 

What a delight it is to don fresh, 
clean clothing. 

What a self-respecting feeling one 
has when one puts on a well-made dress 
that is appropriate and becoming. 

All these things take time and effort, 
but they pay double in sheer pleasure. 

And we should use our energies to 
make happiness come for every effort, 
pleasure for every thought that we 
give to family, home, or clothing, and 
thus make of all our responsibilities 
stepping stones to success, via happi¬ 
ness. 

For surely, when we are happy, we 
are successful, at least in that little 
domain where we are queen. No 
matter what our environment, no 


matter what our circumstances—a 
singing teakettle, a cozy fire, some one 
to care for, some one to care, a con¬ 
science that does not disturb—all these 
help in our walk up the steps to divine 
content. 

For some of us it may seem a long 
journey, but trying makes it interest¬ 
ing. And we have the satisfaction all 
the way of having done our best with 
our “bag of tools”, our “shapeless 
mass”, and “book of rules.” 

* * * 

When I was growing up, I knew 
many girls to get out of work by not 
wanting to do it. Sometimes I 
thought my mother pretty severe 
because she expected us to wash the 
dishes. It was part of the work for 
my sisters and me. She expected us to 
arrange the table, make the beds, peel 
the potatoes, help on wash day, and 
iron the plain things. It never occurred 
to us to say, “I don’t want to do 
it.” I admit many times I didn’t 
really want to, but I should only have 
made myself ridiculous by saying so. 

Self-pity was not scarce with me 
sometimes, especially when there was 
an all-absorbing book that I wanted 
very much to read, or a guest who had 
interesting things to tell after dinner 
that I wanted very much to hear, or 
when the call came on a sleepy morn¬ 
ing to get up quick and help with break¬ 
fast. But now I realize that having to 
do things, being expected to do them 
without any alternative, was good for 
me. 

Girls who grow up and take the 
mother place in the home understand 
little girls and little boys who don’t 
want to do things. Yet they know 
from experience that success and a 
happiness within come from learning, 
as children, to do the things they don’t 
want to do when they don’t want to 
do them. 




Youth in the Heart 


Love and Interest 


W ERE I a lecturer, I should 
expound much about Happi¬ 
ness, Love, and Truth, be¬ 
cause, together, they seem to make a 
complete circle, in which one could 
ever live supremely content. But 
were I to illustrate my circle of Happi¬ 
ness, Love, and Truth, I should make 
the hub of it Youth—the kind of youth 
that stays in the heart despite per¬ 
plexities, despite feeble steps, wrinkles, 
gray hair, and many birthdays. 

Keeping young in heart keeps inter¬ 
est alive, and folks who are truly 
interested are curious enough to look 
deep into things. The heart that 
learns to look deep will find peace 
instead of discord, and if we are willing 
we can grow even by grief as we do 
through happiness. 

I heard a wise old Irish philosopher 
say, “If you want to keep young, don’t 
let your troubles settle in your knees. 
Sure ’n you can tell the unhappy 
women by the way they lift their 
feet. There’s no spring in their knees; 
they drag themselves about, no force 
within amovin’ them.” 

The force within must be one’s very 
own heart. Don’t put weights on your 
knees. Keep your heart young and 
free and happy. Look for the good in 
people, in conditions, in surroundings. 
Learn to explore a little deeper into the 
soul of man. Interest yourself in the 
heart next to you, and your own 
troubles will melt like icicles in the sun¬ 
shine. Learn to laugh with people, 
especially the little folk. Cultivate 
their source of enthusiasm, for if 


you put yourself into the hands of the 
children, their very interest will keep 
you young with them. I have often 
thought that surely one of God’s best 
reasons for giving children to grown¬ 
ups and grandchildren to big grown¬ 
ups is, through association and interest, 
to make the grown-up young again. 

* * * 

When we read of the calamities, 
misfortunes, unhappiness, and selfish¬ 
ness in the world, we who live simple, 
commonplace lives wonder, like the 
simple fellow in the play, “What’s all 
the shootin’ for?” 

We wonder at it all, and yet we need 
no one to tell us what is lacking, for 
we know that if there were love, there 
would be no hate; if there were honesty, 
there would be no theft; and if there 
were sympathy, there would be no 
cruelty. 

A young couple whom I know sur¬ 
prised their friends by becoming 
divorced. The girl said in explanation, 
“Why, he wanted me to think about 
him all the time.” 

And he said, “She never thought 
of any one but herself.” 

If there had been real love between 
them, the substance of their happiness 
would have been in thinking and plan¬ 
ning, each for the comfort and delight 
of the other, and both would have been 
happy. 

* * * 

Where selfishness is, there is no 
happiness, for selfishness corrodes and 
embitters. 




Roof Trees 


Build Soundly 


I HAVE read John Burroughs’ 
essay, “The Roof Tree,” many 
times. It tells us how to build 
happy homes—the kind that invite us 
to live contented lives. Every person 
who is helping a child to a healthy, 
happy grown-up-ness should read it. 
It reveals so clearly the importance of 
careful building, whether the struc¬ 
ture be a house or a human soul. 

Just as each foundation stone and 
joist and rafter and door and window 
and bit of siding and roof is selected 
with care as to quality of material, and 
shaped and placed with a thought 
always of its part in making the finished 
house beautiful, substantial, and com¬ 
fortable, so should we strive to choose 
and shape the principles, desires, 
motives, and purposes that go into the 
forming of the character of the develop¬ 
ing young life. 

Burroughs says, “I notice how eager 
all men are in building their houses, 
how they linger about them, or even 
about their proposed sites. When the 
cellar is being dug, they want to take a 
hand in it; the earth evidently looks 
a little different, a little more friendly 
and congenial, than other earth. When 
the foundation walls are up and the 
first floor is rudely sketched by rough 
timbers, I see them walking pensively 
from one imaginary room to another, 
or sitting a long time wrapped in 
sweet reverie, upon the naked joist. 
It is a favorite pastime to go there for 
a Sunday afternoon and linger fondly 
about; they take their friends or their 
neighbors and climb the skeleton stairs 
and look out of the vacant windows, 
and pass in and out of the just sketched 
doorways. How long the house is a- 
finishing! The heart moves in long 
before the workmen move out.” 

The young life should interest us 
more than the skeleton house. We 
should keep close enough to see the 


new joists go up, the windows in, and 
new supports take their places in the 
child mind. If we watch close to the 
building of their characters, the form¬ 
ing of their ideals, the development of 
courage and poise within them, they 
will mean more to us when they are 
grown up. We will love them more 
unselfishly, understand their motives 
and purposes better, just as we would 
appreciate more the house we helped 
to build. 

Knowing children is a gift that comes 
after a great desire has rested in the 
heart and when kindness and interest 
are deeply rooted there. When a 
mother complains that her children 
never consider her in any of their plans, 
it is often, I believe, because her lack 
of sympathy and understanding auto¬ 
matically shuts her out from their 
interests, and I have no doubt the 
fact that they can’t take her into their 
confidences is as great a disappoint¬ 
ment to them as to her. Sometimes 
such unfortunate lack of congeniality 
makes in all hearts an empty spot that 
is difficult to fill. 

Mothers and fathers should make 
time for their children. Mothers, 
especially, should be kind, fair, and 
happy. The constant “Don’t do that” 
is not healthy, for it cripples the 
individuality of a child inclined to 
obey and makes for discredit and dis¬ 
respect with those who are not so in¬ 
clined. 

A mother’s power is very great. A 
wife can influence, but a mother can 
build soundly and permanently. She 
can give her children a heritage of good 
health and the still greater heritage of 
a good moral background, which means 
a substantial heart and a permanently 
forward thought. 

In the divine scheme of harmony, the 
mother, who knows her children, holds 
the magic key that locks the door 




Roof Trees 


against routing squabbles, misunder¬ 
stood feelings, or corroding resent¬ 
ments. A mother who knows her 
children, directs and guides them, lives 
with their questions, but avoids every 
semblance of criticism. If we must 
have critics, let them never come in 
contact with young or old, for it is 
irritating to both to be told always and 
continuously what the trouble is, but 
never how to fix it. God made us all 
kin and He did not intend that we 
should find fault with one another, or 
that we should become so wise or so 
different as to be unable to appreciate 
the anguish, curiosity, exuberance, or 
joy of those with whom we live each 
day. 

High notions about our personal 
wisdom and exclusiveness, like goggles 
in the rain, blind us to the road. 

If mothers would only realize that 
it is the minds and hands of humans 
that make the wheels of commerce go 


around, controlling all material 
strength, they would be inspired to 
help their children to a healthy, happy 
maturity, rather than to accept them 
as burdens of responsibility. No 
mother knows but that her child could 
come to be a Lincoln or an Edison. 

Visualization is necessary before 
realization. In these pages, I wish I 
might encourage every mother to 
picture an ideal building of the char¬ 
acters of her children, using for the 
foundation stones, cleanliness; the 
joists, industry; the siding, kindness; 
the floor, truth; the windows, indi¬ 
viduality; the doors, generosity; the 
roof, love; and nailing all securely 
together with courage and sentiment. 
Then she could know definitely that 
their Roof Tree would shelter them 
through every storm of life and find 
itself set always in that garden of 
flowers that blooms wherever there be 
happy hearts. 



Incentives 


Looking One’s Best 


W HEN we lose interest in 
pleasing people, we have lost 
the greatest incentive for 
making ourselves attractive. 

That is what I thought not long ago 
while waiting for a friend to join me 
for luncheon. 

As I watched the throngs of women 
passing by, I wondered what was the 
incentive that prompted each of them 
to strive to attain or retain their 
attractiveness. Pondering this ques¬ 
tion, I thought of the motives that 
govern a great majority of women, 
making them exert themselves to the 
utmost to look their best. Is it not 
the hope of winning the attention, 
admiration, and love of those they hold 
most dear? And after their love and 
respect have been won, is it not the 
desire to retain what has been gained, 
that makes a woman care to keep her¬ 
self attractive? 

This feeling is not peculiar to any 
age or condition of womanhood, for 
it is already well developed in the little 
girl going to school in kindergarten 
or primary grade. It is her special 
delight to wear her best dress and 
prettiest hair ribbon to win the atten¬ 
tion and admiration of the teacher she 
loves, and whoever saw a little girl that 
did not love her first teacher? 

When the young miss reaches the age 
at which she feels the impulse to put 
her hair up and let her skirts down, 
whom then is she dressing to please? 
The answer is too obvious. Of course, 
this is the sweetheart age, and it 
stimulates, sometimes to extremes, the 
desire to appear attractive. 

As a rule, girls—and boys, too— 
take the greatest pains with their 
toilets at this age, spending endless 
time, energy, and often the entire 
contents of their purses, in securing 
clothes to make them look attractive 
in the beloved’s eyes. No artificial 


stimulus is required at this stage of life 
to spur the desire for attractiveness. 
Nature supplies an all-powerful incen¬ 
tive. 

Then when the day of days arrives 
for a girl and the trousseau is to be se¬ 
lected, only the best and most becom¬ 
ing garments are considered. How¬ 
ever, whether the incentive to keep 
herself attractive will remain with this 
girl-woman depends much on her 
character or position in life, or on both. 
If she is a woman of the true-mother 
type, she will feel that it is not enough 
to win the admiration and respect of 
her mate. She must retain her 
spiritual and physical attractiveness in 
order to keep herself young in the eyes 
of the one she most desires to please. 
It is not enough to win a thing if we 
lack the desire or the power to hold 
what we have gained. 

A beautiful woman is rarely, if ever, 
as gracious as her homely sister, for 
she feels that her beauty gives her the 
right of way. But her plainer sister 
knows that kindness, a pleasing con¬ 
sideration for every one she meets, will 
help her to make friends, and if she 
applies to this an intelligent, persistent 
desire for attractiveness, she is sure 
to be loved and appreciated. 

Appreciation of beauty is one of the 
attributes of true culture, and the best 
place to encourage and develop this 
appreciation is in the home, where love 
is the protector. 

Wives can help their husbands by 
keeping their attractiveness; mothers 
can win the admiration of their children 
and keep them nearer by being always 
pretty to see; and grandmothers, who 
have in a delightfully dignified way 
kept the spirit—the incentive for 
pleasing—may be such a very real in¬ 
spiration that their memory will live in 
the hearts of their loved ones like 
exquisite music. 




Working Cheerfully 


A Lightened Load 


O NCE, a boy, perhaps sixteen 
years of age, and small for 
that, offered to carry two large 
bags for me. I remarked that I 
thought them too heavy for him, but 
he insisted and, with a boy’s “braggy- 
proud” smile, picked them up and 
walked right off with them. 

I asked if he was not young for that 
kind of work, but he insisted that he 
was not, that the job paid well, if he 
hustled, and that was what he liked. 
He said, “Why, there are a lot of 
fellows bigger than me and some of 
’em never make as much.” The boy 
was happy and bubbling with talk 
and he said one very true thing, 
“Folks won’t pay you big unless you 
smile and act like you really want to 
carry their truck.” And I thought, 
“Sure enough, success is for those who 
can smile and be cheerful about any 
load they have to carry, especially when 
the load belongs to some one else.” 

If we could only throttle our own 
selfishness and catch up with our own 
ambitions so that our energies would 
parallel our wishes, we would be on the 
highroad to a wonderfully fruitful and 
gratifying fife. 

^.We often say casually that we wish 
we could be happy and have good times 
like other folks. We wish that we 
could cook delicious foods like some 
whom we know, or make beautiful 
clothes. But we spend days and weeks 
just wishing instead of picking up 


the idea smilingly and buckling right 
down to the hard work of it and achiev¬ 
ing the thing we wish for. The golden 
pot of accomplishment is at the end of 
every wish rainbow if we but work to¬ 
ward it, then grasp it while the rain¬ 
bow lingers in our hearts. 

The little fellow carrying the bags 
seemed, at first, not equal to the job, 
but when he got a good hold and 
started, he was not thinking over and 
over about how heavy the bags were, 
but that soon he would be at his desti¬ 
nation. As a result, he had only the 
bags to carry and not even a tiny bit 
of his own self-pity, which is indeed 
the heaviest known thing. 

We can find joy in carrying every 
burden, if, while we bear it, we think 
not of the load, but of the happiness 
that awaits us at the end when we lay 
it down with the satisfaction of work 
well done. 

* * * 

If work were a luxury and we could 
indulge in it like sports, what a clamor 
there would be to be in the game! And 
why not make it a great game of effort, 
inspiration, and profit? If we drag 
our feet, we wear out our own shoes, no 
one else’s. If we dread our work, we 
lose the joy we might have. So why 
not make it a part of the plan to get 
one hundred per cent, fun and joy out 
of every day? 

For what are we living for, anyway, 
—worry or happiness? 




Appreciation 


The Key to Understanding 


Appreciation is the key to 

/A knowledge, the key to art, to 
A. literature, to good work. With¬ 
out it, beauty is not seen nor under¬ 
stood and perfection is never acquired. 
The woman who does not appreciate 
the texture, beauty, and service of a 
piece of cloth will have the most 
difficult time in making a beautiful 
garment out of it. The woman who 
does not appreciate her home and her 
responsibilities there will never make 
hers a happy home. 

It may be because I am denied the 
privilege of much time at home that the 
thought of it is so bright to me. Per¬ 
haps, if I had all the crosses that come 
with each day in the home, I should fail 
to appreciate the opportunities that 
are prevalent there and I should see 
the opportunities not as diamond 
dollars, but as leaden crosses. But 
I believe that with the sense of appre¬ 
ciation I have acquired, I should recog¬ 
nize the opportunity that the home 
actually affords for keeping spirits 
gay, hearts together, and bodies well 
nourished. I believe I should practice 
the little economies that would result 
in bigger things and set examples that 
would serve to build character and 
hold secure that which makes life 
permanent. 

We women all hurry too rapidly 
through the days, forgetting how big 
they are and how many times we could 
touch hands with real happiness if we 
would but appreciate the opportunity. 

A few weeks ago when I was travel¬ 
ing, a woman from across the aisle of 
the car in which I was riding came over 
and sat with me. She was a deep- 
souled person who had lived and 


thought and who had a delightful sense 
of appreciation for humorous, as well 
as for serious, things. She had been a 
pioneer in the extreme West. She 
told me of accomplishments out there 
—of the women, of church and school 
difficulties, of community sewing 
classes, of the inability to procure ade¬ 
quate materials, how one magazine 
traveled the rounds of all the homes, 
and how recipes are exchanged and 
bits of sewing and housekeeping knowl¬ 
edge passed on to the neighbors. 

I realized that the charm of the 
woman was her ability to appreciate 
life, situations, and opportunities, and 
to use them all to good effect. She 
found beauty in the most obscure 
places, saw good in people, discovered 
skill in fingers, and evidenced actual 
delight in every possible service. 

Later, this same little lady cuddled a 
baby for a good two hours so that the 
mother might rest, and she adminis¬ 
tered every possible attention to a 
train-sick traveler. And that even¬ 
ing, in the diner, I heard her remark to 
her husband that she was not at all 
tired and had really enjoyed the day’s 
travel. When we changed trains at 
Buffalo, she remarked that she was 
always so happy to get to Buffalo 
because there was so much beauty in 
the Falls—eleven whole miles away! 

My little lady of the train demon¬ 
strated that she knew the virtue of 
perseverance and the value of vision, 
for her every act, her every word, was 
for happiness and cheer. She was 
unselfish, thoughtful in a most intelli¬ 
gent way, and I am sure the brightness 
of that visit with her will remain with 
me always. 




Real Neighbors 


Be One Yourself 


T HE only difference I have found 
between Eastern and Western 
folks is that it takes Eastern 
neighbors longer to get acquainted. 

Out West there is that delightful 
custom of borrowing something from 
the new neighbor—an egg, a cup of 
sugar, a spoonful of tea, or a handful 
of matches—evidencing that you want 
to be neighborly, that you welcome the 
newcomer. Your borrowing invites 
your neighbor to borrow from you, to 
drop in informally, and that’s the only 
kind of neighboring worth while. We 
seldom take time to call next door, 
though we make a special effort to call 
on someone three blocks away. 

I had a “Little Gray Home in the 
West” for a few years, and of the 
definitely happy memories that come 
again and again, those of my neighbors 
stand out clearest. 

I remember once a neighbor’s furnace 
was “out of kilter.” ’Twas cold—a 
Kansas January. The husband and 
wife brought their wee baby and visited 
us for two days. We sewed, cooked, 
kept house, and at night, when the 
men folks were home, read aloud, 
played, sang, and visited as we never 
had had time to do before. 

Once, when an economical streak 
struck me and I decided to dye my 
wedding dress, white to tan, a neighbor 
across the street, wife of a police officer, 
saw me coming from the drug store 
with a dye package and volunteered to 
help. She had had much experience 
and real success with dyeing. I learned 
more from her that morning than I 
could have learned in a half dozen 
attempts alone. She took her time; 
we had a good visit; and the dyeing was 
a success. I only thanked her, yet the 
information she gave me has been 
valuable these fifteen years. 


One of the j oiliest times I ever had 
was when a neighbor’s maid failed to 
appear when special guests had been 
invited for dinner. I helped to cook 
the dinner and serve it, all dressed up 
in an apron and a lace handkerchief 
folded in half for a cap. As the salad 
was approaching, one of the guests 
began talking about my husband, about 
how they went to school together, and 
how he just had to see him. We all 
spent a happy evening together and 
had much fun, once the secret was out. 

Days when I was sewing, my neigh¬ 
bors would bring pie, baked beans, 
scalloped potatoes, soup, always some¬ 
thing for dinner, so that I could stay 
at my work longer. One neighbor, 
whose husband came home for lunch, 
would often send a delicious plate lunch 
to me. All I could ever do for her was 
help her get sleeves in right, miter 
square yokes, hang hems, and lend her 
my dress form. But she did a lot for 
me, for now as the years go by I can 
look back with treasured happiness to 
the days when I had the joy of being 
home and of having real honest-to- 
goodness neighbors. 

If folks obey the Golden Rule on 
both sides, there is sure to be a happy 
neighborhood that will provide all with 
an enviable store of memories— memo¬ 
ries of homey friendships to last a 
lifetime. 

Life is too short to be stingy with; 
days are too precious to let drift by 
without the touch of a friendly heart¬ 
string some place, somewhere. And 
the surest way to make the best of the 
days is to try to be good friends with 
your neighbors. They may not think 
as you do nor have the same standards, 
but this is a sure rule—you can help 
them or they can help you, and a give- 
and-take spirit is a wonderful thing. 




Hurt Feelings 


Don't Cuddle Them 


I HAVE lived through many hurt 
feelings, especially with relatives, 
and I realize with every experience 
that it is better to talk things over right 
at the beginning, to put personal feel¬ 
ings entirely aside, to compromise 
some way, and, if possible, to com¬ 
promise so diplomatically that both 
persons may feel that they have had 
their own way about it. 

Persons who have a hurt “bottled up” 
within carry a heavy load; if we love 
them, we will talk it out and save them 
from their self-inflicted unhappiness. 
Observations show that ninety-five out 
of every one hundred persons are kindly 
disposed and sincere. Where love 
exists, this percentage is greater, and 
where love exists, there should never 
be, among thinking people, a question 
of motive. But people must be frank 
and speak out, must say how they feel; 
then their folks and friends will know 
what to expect. They will not be like 
the man and wife who, living in the 
same house for eight years, ceased to 
speak to each other and who are now 
totally disagreed as to what the 


original trouble was; neither can 
remember definitely what it all started 
about. 

I know a man who says of his sister, 
“It’s just about time for her to have a 
pouty spell and the least thing will set 
her off.” That is true of too many 
people, who persist in making more 
misery for themselves than for any one 
else. 

Folks careless about other persons' 
feelings, shouldn't be worried about; 
and those who really care never intend 
to hurt. So why should one worry or 
be unhappy? A little frankness some¬ 
times makes it necessary for one to 
develop a little more personal indepen¬ 
dence and this may perchance prove to 
be a good thing. 

I say, if you have a grievance, hang 
it out and let the kindly wind of friend¬ 
liness blow out all the wrinkles. If you 
have an idea, find an opportune time, 
and work to have the interested one 
become interested in it. 

But don't pout, don't cuddle griev¬ 
ances, and at all times and under all 
circumstances, use common sense. 




Proud of Patches 


Partners in Everything 


O NCE a little fellow asked, “Why- 
do folks wait till New Years to 
start in being good?” And as 
I thought of the people who start New 
Year’s Day with all manner of resolu¬ 
tions and in thirty days forget all 
about them, the thought occurred, 
“Why make iron-clad resolutions that 
will tear one’s pride when they are 
dropped? Instead, why not plan pro¬ 
gressive achievements for all the New 
Year?” 

To write out all the possible good 
things you hope to do, or accomplish, 
during the year is interesting. But the 
vital part of such a procedure comes 
when you have the list in your desk 
or dresser drawer and every once in a 
while during the year read it over to 
remind yourself of your promises. And 
this hustling to keep up with your 
own schedule is the greatest fun. It’s 
just like having a partner that you 
could not possibly disappoint.” 

And this brings to my mind a 
thought about partners. The other 
day, a dear little lady with a radiant 
face—a mother of four little tots, all 
so small that it was a real problem for 
her to get down town even for an after¬ 
noon—came into our offices. As she 
talked, I found actual happiness in just 
anticipating what a splendid partner 
she is to her husband and what an 
inspiring companion she is for her chil¬ 
dren. She told me how she managed 
to study in order to be informed about 
things and to keep up her sewing while 
doing all her own housework and 
laundering. 


I occasionally think that I am 
extremely busy; there are times when I 
defy any woman to say that she has 
more to do than I. But this little 
mother takes more steps and does more 
every day than I do, and her face tells 
that keeping busy makes for happiness 
and doing little constructive things to 
help others makes for contentment. I 
know that my happiest days are my 
very busiest ones, and I’m sure this 
little mother finds her happiness in 
being busy. I just know her heart is 
fairly bursting with plans for her family 
—that every hour of the day finds her 
thinking of the little homey things she 
can do to add to their comfort or of 
how she can instil in her children the 
teachings that will develop them into 
fine citizens for the future. 

I know she teaches principles, for the 
blouse of one of her little boys, who 
asked to remove his coat, had very neat 
patches on the elbows. As the mother 
talked to me about her sewing difficul¬ 
ties and successes, he turned his arm 
to me and said, “See, my mamma 
did that.” And the mother explained, 
“You know Ray’s father’s salary has 
not increased with prices. We used to 
worry about it, but now I’m just de¬ 
termined that we will be proud of our 
patches. The children and I have 
formed a little T-of-P Club’ all our 
own, ‘P of P’ meaning ‘Proud of 
Patches.’ I tell them that if we did 
not know how to patch or were too 
indolent to patch we could not possibly 
belong to this club. So we think even 
that is something to be happy about.” 




Tolerance 


With Charity Toward All 


T OLERANCE in a young person 
is not essential. Joy should 
dominate—the spirit of adven¬ 
ture and wholeheartedness sway all 
else. But as age sifts its experiences 
through the heart, there should come a 
natural tolerance and understanding 
that measure with mother tenderness 
the weaknesses, the heights and depths, 
of the spirit of humanity. 

Old people who have loved, who have 
given of their heart interest, are never 
bitter. Time has tempered them and 
clarified their vision regarding motives, 
so that they see weaknesses and mis¬ 
takes with clear-eyed kindness and have 
an appreciative understanding for all 
who experience either failure or success. 

A man who knows no tolerance in 
his own heart always seems to want to 
jeer, to insinuate that the method of 
every success is faulty, that fate has 
dealt with him unfairly, that he is as 
bright, has worked as hard, and is as 
deserving as his neighbor, forgetting 
that this very line of thinking digs for 
him his own well of disappointment. 

An intolerant woman always seems 
to find gossip necessary and to as¬ 


sume the “I-don’t-see-how-they-did- 
it” attitude, insisting that all success 
is achieved by unvirtuous or dis¬ 
honest means. To see such a woman 
and to realize that she has allowed her 
birthright to slip away from her, is 
tragedy itself. 

Are individuals to blame for such 
unfortunate jealousies and narrow¬ 
ness? Perhaps not entirely. But each 
disappointment that is taken as a per¬ 
sonal misfortune, makes for bitter¬ 
ness—it is like fruit juice that turns to 
vinegar instead of wine. 

It is so very easy to evidence 
appreciation; it is so tedious and self- 
stinting to condemn and criticize. 
Friendly approval, appreciation of the 
motive, a desire really to understand, 
will build materially a tolerant spirit 
that will open up a new world not only 
for us but in the hearts of humans all 
around, and will sweeten for us, as 
nothing else can, the years that other¬ 
wise would be bleak and lonely. 

And, after all, what is life but that 
which helps us to understand and 
appreciate and feel akin to the heart 
next to us? 




Wholesome Living 


Healthy Development 


I WAS once by accident in a studio 
filled with cheap theatrical people 
—the burlesque type. There were 
girls half-dressed, smoking, lounging, 
caressing the men, and men kissing 
them as they passed. There were dirt, 
ill temper, and a reckless “don’t-care” 
spirit evident everywhere. I felt ter¬ 
rorized, like the man who, assigned to 
photographing inmates in an insane 
asylum, when lunch time and a moment 
of freedom came, ran down the street 
to the first mirror he could find to see 
whether he looked as did the people he 
had been photographing. 

When I left this studio den I, too, 
wanted to find a mirror to see whether 
I evidenced the hard indifference, the 
utter lack of sympathy of those whom 
I had seen. 

The very next day I was asked to 
serve as adjudicator at an eisteddfod— 
a singing festival celebrated by the 
Welsh people. As I saw the groups of 
children reciting, playing, singing, 
singly and in groups, with their earnest 
little faces lifted up in serious interest, 
daring to do their best, eager to please, 
the little curtsies of the girls, the manly 


straightawayness of the boys, I felt 
that here were stability, cleanness, 
sincerity, and effort, all working to¬ 
gether for good. 

In the unclean studio, there were 
only about twenty. In one of the 
choruses of children of eight to twelve 
years, there were three hundred. One 
place made me ashamed, unhappy; 
the other made me glad and proud. 
And why? Those lovely children told 
more definitely than words that there 
are mothers here and all over our 
country, working for beauty in their 
children, for healthy, normal develop¬ 
ment that will make for permanency of 
character and affection. Such little 
folks can lift up their faces and sing and 
rejoice. 

There is a difference between people 
who respect the rules of decency, honor, 
and faith and those who disregard them, 
a difference that should impel every 
mother to encourage her children in 
wholesome living and thinking, to 
teach them to revere that which is 
right, and to be proud of their innocence 
rather than of their sophistication. 
One is sunshine; the other, mold. 




Seeds of Unselfishness 


Roses of Achievement 


T HE word achievement first took 
root in my consciousness when 
I heard a talented and great¬ 
hearted man say, “Achievement is the 
parent of sincere desire.” I turned 
that statement over many times before 
I agreed that it is entirely true. My 
trend of thinking had been that we 
must first desire a thing before we 
would even set about to achieve it, 
but we can disprove that by the 
most elementary reasoning. For ins¬ 
tance, with the first evidence of indi¬ 
viduality in a child comes an effort 
for achievement. A step is accom¬ 
plished, and immediately the desire 
is created to try another; then two 
and three follow until the legs are 
strong enough to carry the body in 
motion. 

All through life, as achievements are 
realized, desire is stimulated, and those 
who travel farthest are those who 
realize that great things are not accom¬ 
plished by idle dreams or selfish 
motives, but by high appreciation, 
earnest effort, and patient and applic¬ 
able study. 

To associate the word achievement 
with unselfishness seems the right 
thing, because real achievements, those 
which are permanent and lasting, 
must have their conception in unsel¬ 
fishness. Artist and teacher, philan¬ 
thropist and minister, all must evidence 
extreme unselfishness to achieve heights 
in service. 

But the highest achievements are 
reached by our mothers, for from them 
is exacted the greatest unselfishness 
and for them comes the greatest re¬ 
ward. Not long ago we were talking 
about this, and some one said, “Well, 
I’ve never been able to see where a 
mother has so much glory—always 
seems to me like a lot of sacrifice 
and hard work.” Then it seemed 
the entire group arose in retaliation 


of this statement. Thoughts were 
turned round and light focused upon all 
the mothers we knew, and with every 
real mother we found a happy heart, 
perhaps traces of much suffering and 
unhappiness, but a soul made rich and 
hands made tender through that very 
service. 

Measuring achievements by indi¬ 
vidual standards or mile posts seems 
almost a shameful thing to do, and 
especially if the measurements tend to 
a recognition of material success. 
Having things to do with and money 
to spend is a satisfaction, but having 
some one to save for and plan with is 
real happiness. 

A wonderful mother said to me 
recently, “Sometimes I can scarcely 
understand myself. Only a few years 
ago, I had great ambitions to achieve 
success in business, and now I am per¬ 
fectly content with just taking care of 
three babies, my husband, and our 
house.” I realized, for I know her 
well, that she had not stopped being a 
success; rather, she had taken a big¬ 
ger, broader road than that of busi¬ 
ness and had become a Rose of Glory 
instead of a stationary trellis, as she 
might have been had business kept 
her interest. 

If every mother could consider her¬ 
self as a gardener in God’s own garden, 
tending His roses, cultivating them, 
caring for them, keeping all the weeds 
and destructive things away, I am 
sure that being a mother would seem 
much more glorious. Often we get 
too close to real beauty to appreci¬ 
ate its magnificance. I wonder if 
that is why mothers sometimes grow 
tired and impatient—never getting 
far enough away from their own bit 
of garden to appreciate how truly 
wonderful it is. 

Merchants take inventory at certain 
intervals in order to know just what 




Seeds of Unselfishness 


they possess and what they need. I 
have often wondered why it would not 
be a happy thing for our mother folk 
to take inventory to see just how pre¬ 
cious their little live possessions are 
so that they could make them even 
more precious. 

Helping little folks to achieve speech, 
good manners, and unselfishness, put¬ 
ting into their hearts appreciation of 
life and all the good for which it stands, 
calls forth unselfishness in abundance, 
but results in the highest of achieve¬ 
ments. 

I know a dear woman who has occa¬ 
sion to be very sad, but her cheerful¬ 
ness is magnificent. She is so unselfish 
as to consider it actually wrong to allow 


any one to think of her grief. To see 
her is to appreciate thoroughly her 
sheer dexterity in concealment and to 
experience shame in having ever con¬ 
fessed a grievance. This woman pos¬ 
sesses a true mother’s greatest charm— 
unselfishness. To be in her presence is 
to realize the strength of her character 
and to love her for the happiness she 
manifests. 

If I were so fortunate as to be an 
unselfish mother, a gardener in God’s 
garden, I’d plant an abundance of 
happiness and I’d cultivate it with all 
my might, for I know for a certainty 
that seeds of unselfishness bring buds 
of happiness that blossom forth into 
glorious roses of Achievement. 



Christmas Kindliness 


The Thoughtful Gift 


T HE other night I sat with some 
friends, turning hems on some 
lovely, soft, white linen Christ¬ 
mas handkerchiefs. As the threads 
were drawn and the tiny hems turned, 
many thoughts came about Christmas 
giving. 

Memories of old-time Christmases, 
snow-covered fields, long paths, star- 
studded skies, and the mysterious 
reindeers and Santa Claus that you 
yourself visualized into being—all these 
came fast to mind. 

And then came the Christmas lesson 
of Jesus and the manger and the 
simplicity of the first Christmas. And 
these thoughts brought the realization 
that Christmas, instead of extravagant 
giving, should be a time of loving com¬ 
panionship, of tender memories, and of 
happily sympathetic appreciation of 
those we hold dear as friends and loved 
ones. 

Christmas time should be wreathed 
in kindliness and candled with loving 
tenderness. The lonely heart should 
be sought and made to realize that 
there is unselfishness and that there is 
love at Christmas time. The person 
who is of good cheer at Christmas, 
who really enjoys “Merry Christmas,” 
who delights in the planning, making, 
buying, and tying of Christmas pack¬ 
ages is the one who has the best happi¬ 
ness and the most fun. 

To receive a gift is not half such good 
fortune as to know real happiness in 
planning and giving one, especially if 
one is thoughtful enough to think up 
and procure something that even the 
“impossible” gift-receiver will be de¬ 
lighted with. It always seems a mark 
of laziness for any one to say, “Oh, I 
haven’t any idea what to give them 
because they are so hard to buy for,” 
or “They have everything.” 

Giving gifts in this way is a responsi¬ 
bility and this is a thing that should 


not enter into Christmas giving, for we 
should love or appreciate the persons 
to whom we give gifts enough to plan 
something that will comfort or delight 
them. Usually, the trouble is that we 
want the gift to seem sumptuous or 
generous, and we overlook the thought¬ 
ful thing that will be appreciated. 

As a child I remember a dear old lady 
who was greatly loved, outwardly for 
her delicious cookies and shining apples 
that she always had on hand for the 
children who visited her, and divinely 
for the loving spirit that made her plan 
to have these things ready when the 
eager-eyed little folks came. This old 
treasure woman seldom went to town, 
for her egg and butter money would not 
go far in buying gifts for all whom she 
delighted to remember. 

Instead, she saved all the tin foil that 
came to her throughout the year and 
covered big luscious hickory nuts with 
it. Also, she made tiny bars of candied 
popcorn and wrapped them in bits of 
colored tissue-paper; she made old- 
fashioned molasses drops; and baked 
delicious cookies for her little friends. 
These little packages perhaps amounted 
to no more than five or six cents in cost, 
but I know several of these children, 
now grown up, who treasure the 
thought that inspired them more than 
any gifts they have ever received. 

This same woman, in early Novem¬ 
ber each year, made lovely fruit 
cake; then at Christmas she cut it up 
into squares or loaves, and iced each 
one beautifully with “my Christmas 
icing,” as she would say, which was 
white and soft and generously plenti¬ 
ful. On top she placed a holly leaf 
with a berry or two. These packages 
of fruit cake were not much as gifts, but 
they were worth their weight in gold for 
the Christmas love and thoughtfulness 
they carried, and after all that is 
Christmas. 




Christinas Kindliness 


Big, expensive, oftentimes imprac¬ 
tical gifts are a financial problem to the 
giver and a real responsibility for the 
recipient, for it is embarassing to have 
gifts from those who you know have 
made a real sacrifice, and who put you 


under a distinct feeling of obligation. 

The gift's responsibility is not to 
express money, but thoughtfulness. 
It should bring joy and tenderness to 
the hearts of all who are privileged to 
give and to receive. 





































































































































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